I'm not even a poet, just a petty rhymer.
When starting a new verse, first thing I do is grab a timer.
And if writing the new verse takes more than five minutes flat,
I say, "Okay, that's about enough of that!"
And then I go back to reading my "How to enjoy your retirement" primer.
Grab some cheese, some crackers, and some wine;
then, sit back and read this rhyming verse of mine.
And if, as you quaff,
you're never inclined to laugh?
Let's just say, it's because I'm an old punster in decline.
God’s Own Daughter!
I am the best rhymer!
Make me win, that is my order!
How you do it, do I have to bother!
Dated: 28/2/2019
Sponsor by: Bobby May
Contest: I am a Winner
Title of Poem: Why I should win 1st Place
In businessy emails I rhyme,
A large percentage of the time.
My weirdly waxing poetic,
Thought by bureaucrats pathetic,
When all is said, still be no crime.
Reading through my lines
You will find in there meaning,
Words are not simply placed
Just for the sake of rhyming.
Rhyming is an art,
Not everyone can be capable;
But it's not the case for me-
I am a man of different level.
Not just a poet,
You can call me a magician;
With the magic of my talent,
I can rhyme any given situation.
You can't find a rhymer as me,
Neither in the East nor in the West;
Because I am not just good,
I am better than the best.
The "Rhymers" guild; archaic faction,
We garner all the more detraction
Less, are we, in our attraction
More, we are, the poetic infraction
When free is verse, a form accursed-
Murders Art, fetch forth a hearse
For they coerced the Poems reverse,
And left our lines inverse- perverse!
*Title is a play off "It's Hard to be a Diamond in a Rhinestone World"
we have to laugh at our bloody self,
cant dodge the rhyme, do i need help,
but then it aint a crime,
me worry not himself,
this time:)
(i even think in rhyme?)
Don
Joe Flach
i think we get the intuition of the mind,
an flows the lines some sweet n kind,
from other buggers sure,
poets beyond deaths door,
to lead the blind:)
Dave Williams
no brother you don't bore,
i like the way you rhyme and fit,
get to flow the words of wit,
and i am bloody sure,
no boring bit...
There was a girl who spent too much shoppin’
The mean hubby said she best be stoppin’
So she started to mourn
But Rogue Rhymer was born
And now her checks are no longer hoppin’
Tyburn and Diamante, the smarty and the glow, are now here
and they’re ready, perfectly ready, to be read by you my dear!
The wintry weather have mantled their innocent forms all day,
and by the window they’re leaning on my last hope, their hooray.
I watch li’l Haiku, flowing, with orange flame in the evening wind,
whilst the mystical orb lingers at the blue mountain---the fairies’ inn.
Dinner-fume is not floating-up yet, perhaps not today, from your kitchen,
so I, the mixed-rhymer, will do them the reading with pizzas in our hands.
I will never be a poet
for even I can clearly see,
my words are plain (I know it)
and a little singsongy.
My head’s as filled with adjectives,
As is my pen with ink,
though I write with all I have to give
most times my poems stink.
I do not know the difference
betwixt haiku and senyru,
(lucky, writing’s not my sustenance,
It’s just what I like to do.)
Yet here I sit with pen in hand
considering my plight;
I need to (oops) or get off the can
for it seems the time is right.
just plain white bread (can’t control it,)
I know my poetry’s just okay,
so since I’ll never be Poet Laureate
The contented rhymer I shall stay.
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